


Unsinkable

by acareeroutofrobbingbanks



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Character Death, Historical AU, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Titanic - Freeform, gay angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acareeroutofrobbingbanks/pseuds/acareeroutofrobbingbanks
Summary: Patrick Stump, a steward on the largest cruise liner in the world, ends up working for an unexpected figure from his recent past, making it difficult for him to push aside his inappropriate feelings and focus on his job. Pete Wentz, the son of a powerful railroad mogul, simply wanted to escape the conventions of being rich and powerful for one night. But the past always comes back to haunt you. And prolonging a one-night-stand to a one week whirlwind romance can't hurt anyone, as long as they don't get caught. 
OR
The Titanic AU that no one asked for





	1. Chapter 1

“So? Whad’ya think, she’s a beaut, eh?” Joe elbowed Patrick, more forceful than he needed to, and Patrick stumbled a little as they walked, already thrown off balance by his duffel. Patrick looked up, and there in the bay, he saw the ship.

Just to the top of the bridge, it stuck nearly a hundred feet out of the water. Big, freshly painted, and imposing, and rather than bobbing in the water like the other top-of-the-line ships that looked like dinghies next to it, it seemed nearly as still as the land, the water breaking and cresting around it. Hundreds of Patrick’s house would have fit inside of it, and if it were later in the day, it would have blocked out the sun. Then again, Patrick had been working for White Star Line for years, and he shrugged, trying to seem unimpressed. 

“She’s alright,” Patrick said. The huge, red-orange pillars were not yet billowing out smoke, and this ship looked a lot like the Olympic, but though Patrick wasn’t new to working on ships, he had to admit the Titanic was grandiose. Possibly too much so.

“‘Alright’,” Joe scoffed. “Biggest ship in the world!”

“Not much bigger than  _ The Olympic _ ,” Patrick reminded him. “Which you would know, had you come to work on it with me. 

“Ay, I got married; what’ve you been doing?” Joe asked, and though he probably hadn’t expected an answer, Patrick’s stomach squirmed with the reminder of where he had been the night before.

“Not likely to be married anytime soon,” he said quietly and Joe changed the subject with ease.

“I hear she’s got a swimming pool, and a Turkish bath,” he said. “Imagine we could sneak in there once all the rich bastards are asleep?”

“While I’m sure that you are quite comfortable with your dowry, I do enjoy my line of work, and I intend to keep it.” Patrick said, a bit peevishly, but mostly in good natured ribbing.

“I’m not serious,” Joe said, with a dreamy sigh. “We’re still sleeping in the glory holes. Still, I heard Harland and Wolff gave us space to breathe on this ship. Hard to imagine they wouldn’t’ve, size of that monstrosity. Must be a thousand feet!”

“Eight-hundred eighty-two feet, nine inches, to be exact.”

Patrick spun around at the familiarly thick Irish accent behind him. He paled at the familiar face of Thomas Andrews, the ship’s designer, and opened his mouth to apologize for Joe, but Andrews laughed and clapped both of them on the back.

“Mr. Stump, a pleasure to have you back on board,” he declared, shaking Patrick’s hand in his firm and calloused grasp with such vigour that Patrick thought he might fall over again. “And I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your friend!”

“Mr. Andrews, this is my friend Mr. Trohman,” Patrick said, “He’s to be a steward alongside myself.”

“Splendid, splendid!” Mr. Andrews cried. He shook Joe’s hand heartily before ushering them up the makeshift bridge that connected the dock to the ship. “Come along now, quickly, there’s much to be done before the passengers arrive! Let me give you both the grand tour!”

Thomas Andrews was, Patrick thought, impossible not to like. He had a bright and cheery personality, and though constantly working, he always seemed to have time for everyone that needed him. He led the two of them around the whole of the ship, and enormous as it was, Patrick found himself quite out of breath by the time they reached the stewards’ quarters.

Commonly called “the glory hole”, staff rooms were never grand, and even on a ship like  _ Titanic _ , Patrick’s hopes were very low, but to his shock, Mr. Andrews was very nearly bouncing by the time they arrived at their room.

“I took into account all the thoughts and opinions you and your comrades gave me after service on the  _ Olympic _ ,” Mr. Andrews told Patrick. “And I believe you’ll find the changes here to be quite satisfactory.”

He opened the doors, and Patrick gaped at the inner room. There were two beds, nearly as large as the one Patrick had back at home, and two separate closets, dressers, and even a writing desk in between the two beds. Best of all, a small window sat in the center of the wall, still facing the city of Southampton.

“What do you think?” Mr. Andrews asked, and Patrick had to shake the ridiculous urge to hug the superior.

“Mr. Andrews,” he gasped, “It’s- well, it’s incredible! I’d wager this is a better space to live than some of the passengers have!”

“Happy employees make for better employees,” Mr. Andrews said modestly. “Please, take all the time you need to get situated in here. I’ll be in my quarters, as I have a few letters that need answering, but please, do no hesitate to come and ask me any questions you may have, and I’ll see you both at dinner tonight, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” they both replied, and once he left, Joe slapped Patrick on the back.

“Good God, I think they’ve gone and given us tickets when we were looking for jobs!” Joe declared delightedly.

“Wonderful man, isn’t he?” Patrick asked in stunned disbelief. “What a room! I tell you, it’s nearly as luxe as the room I was in the other night-” he began, but cut himself off as Joe gave him a disparaging look.

“Oh, Patrick, you didn’t,” he sighed, and Patrick winced. 

“It’s alright for you,” he muttered, “You’ve a wife, probably a family soon.”

“And you might start trying to do the same,” Joe said. “Christ, you work for the White Star Line. Do you have any idea what would happen if they found out?”

“I was in London for just the one night,” Patrick sighed. “My ship was late, and my usual hotel was entirely booked. No one there knew me.”

“What happened?” Joe asked, sounding disappointed in him. Patrick squirmed under his gaze, and began unpacking his bag into the dresser as he spoke.

“Met a man in the usual pub,” he said, and glanced up at Joe. “If you recall, you used to go there with me-”

“I. Am. Married.” Joe replied through gritted teeth. “What kind of man?”

“Hideously rich,” Patrick said. “American. Said he had been out with friends celebrating his graduation from Oxford, and left them behind so he could have a different sort of celebration. The sort he couldn’t rightly tell his wealthy great-uncle paying for his education about. We hit it off, in a manner of fashion, and he brought me back to his hotel room. Well, I thought he might be exaggerating on the subject of Oxford, but it all looked very expensive, so perhaps it was true. We both knew where the evening was going, but then things got a bit, er, odd.”

“Odd?” Joe asked. He had sat down on his bed, despite his disapproval, and was giving Patrick a curious look.

“Well,” Patrick began, and then paused. “Look, do you want to hear this or not? I can hardly tell you a story if you’re going to glare at me the entire time. After all, you aren’t blameless yourself.”

“I would never do that sort of thing now,” Joe said, “And after all, that’s what matters.”

“Will you please at least stop treating me like I’m going to hell, then?” Patrick asked. “After all, you showed me the pub where-”

“Yes, alright,” Joe snapped. “Just get on with it!”

“He was very rich,” Patrick said. “Room filled with trunks and all manner of fineries, and he wouldn’t tell me his name. That’s what’s strange, he said he couldn’t tell me his name, but he said,” Patrick blushed and glanced at the door, checking to be sure no one was listening, “he said if I needed to call him something, I could call him a slut.”

“Christ!” Joe laughed loudly, then cast a nervous glance at the door.

“The point being, he was filthy rich. Room stocked with French wine and feather down quilts. It was beautiful,” Patrick sighed, flopping down onto his bed. Joe chuckled at him. 

“You’re not exactly in the right field to get an attraction to that quality of life,” he snorted. “Maybe if you marry the rich boy,” he teased, a little cruelly.

“I’d make a beautiful blushing bride,” Patrick said, and he leered at Joe. “Is that the secret behind yours?”

“Fucker,” Joe rolled his eyes. “The closest you’re ever going to get to that again is cleaning the presidential suites. Did he say anything to you when you left?”

“What, the rich man?” Patrick asked.

“No, the captain. Yes, the rich man,” Joe sighed.

“Ah, actually, I left before he woke up,” Patrick said, looking down guiltily. Joe was glaring at him when he glanced up, and he shrugged. “What? I wasn’t going to be roped into paying for half a room like that! I barely had enough money to pay for food until the start of this voyage.”

“Food and a copious amount of drink,” Joe said. “Because I’m sure you didn’t wander off with Oxford’s finest without a hell of a lot of gin.”

Patrick aimed a kick at his friend’s shin, but only lazily. Already sitting, he sank down into the brand new bed, lying down and breathing in the scent of brand new sheets. Just for a moment, he closed his eyes, feeling the barely perceptible motion of the waves beneath him. He felt his chest expand like it hadn’t for months, and his heart started beating a more steady rhythm. 

Even docked, Patrick loved being on a ship. It felt more natural than being on land, as though he belonged there, with the gently rocking to keep his body moving in proper time. He functioned better on a ship. Of course, it was a cruel twist of irony that he was a rotten sailor, but Patrick was still a damn good steward, and he’d proven an asset to the White Star Line time and time again. Though he didn’t want to admit it to Joe, or anyone, for that matter, Patrick was over the moon to be on Titanic. Not for the money, though he was earning more than he ever had for a job before on this short trip across the Atlantic, but just because he loved it.

Joe unpacked while Patrick lay there, basking in the peace that came from being back on a boat. His friend chattered in the background about his wife, and what they would do with this money back home, possibly taking her to see Niagara Falls on a belated honeymoon. Patrick was a little jealous at all the talk of relationships, but mostly, he felt a deep and powerful sense of contentment. He was home.

The next morning, after all the staff had settled in, the real work began. They had only a few days before passengers were to start arriving, and it seemed like there was still everything to do. None of the guest bedrooms had sheets yet, and thousands of pounds of food needed to be taken and properly put away in the expansive kitchens. Tables needed to be set out, luggage was sent ahead of time by the richest of clientele. Every last scrap of sawdust from assembly needed to be swept away, portraits needed to be hung, and lifeboats needed to be put in their proper places. Some of rooms were not yet painted, and though the ship had already looked perfect on the outside the day Patrick boarded, the inside seemed impossible to finish on time.

In what little free time they had, Patrick and Joe wandered about the decks. The waters of Southampton weren’t the cleanest, but the sea air still felt good, if a little chilly. Joe wrote his wife often. Multiple times a day. Patrick was starting to set his teeth on edge every time he heard pen on paper. Just to avoid the fresh-married glow around Joe, so as not to let his own bitterness sink in, Patrick sought out extra work, helping Mr. Andrews with the minutest of details. Unfortunately, after a few days of this, Mr. Andrews (“Please, call me Thomas”) also started talking to Patrick about his wife and daughter. Luckily, Patrick could usually stave this off by asking questions about the inner workings of the ship. Thomas loved the Titanic nearly as much as his family.

By the time boarding began, Patrick was almost eager to be up before the sunrise, if only so they could finally set sail. He was antsy to be on the open water again, and excited to be a part of the most exciting maiden voyage in history.

In a brief break between boarding the second and first class passengers, Patrick was leaning back on a chair in front of the “authentic French cafe” that faced the sea, his jacket draped across the back of the chair, and praying for a breeze to dry the sweat on his shirt. He’d been lifting luggage all morning: his back ached, and he was certain he already reeked of body odor. The rabble of thousands of passengers was such a change from the past few days that his whole head was buzzing, and he was wondering if there were any crew only areas on deck when Thomas ran up to him, his eyes wide with panic.

“Patrick!” he gasped, looking even more harried than Patrick, his hands twisting nervously around a handkerchief. Patrick straightened up instantly.

“Sir?” he said. He clamped his arms tightly down onto his torso. Jesus, he wished he wouldn’t sweat so much. It was barely April, and the next few scheduled trips were only going to get hotter.

“We’ve got an emergency,” Thomas moaned, sitting down next to him. “One of the largest rooms was being used by JP Morgan, and he was going to bring his own personal staff with him, but he cancelled and lent the room to a friend of his as a gift,” Thomas rolled his eyes, but the anxious look didn’t fade. “The suites are meant to have their own personal attendants, but we didn’t get the telegram until this morning. You haven’t really been trained for it, but is there any chance you could work there? As a favor to me? There would be a pay increase, of course.”

“Certainly!” Patrick said, stunned at the sudden turn of events. “Er, what all does that entail?’

“Very little,” Thomas said, waving his hand. There was a streak of black soot across his cheek, and Patrick could tell he needed to go back and check on the engine room again, and back in with the captain… “The maids will still clean it, there are no changes in their dining plans, all you have to do is be available for to personally assist the family in whatever they need.”

“I thought it was going to a friend?” Patrick said. He didn’t want to hold the man up longer than necessary, but curiosity got the better of him. 

“Yes, lent it to a friend who brought along his wife and son when he heard the size of the room,” Thomas said absentmindedly. “There’s a small steward’s room adjacent to the suite, if you get a move on you can move your things there before first class starts boarding,” he said, and stood up to walk away. He had turned away when he spun back around and added, as an afterthought, “Bring your friend with you, if you like. It’s a nicer room, I think, big enough for two.”

“Brilliant,” Patrick chuckled to himself, and he threw his jacket back on before racing down to his and Joe’s quarters. Joe, predictably, was writing.

“Pack up,” Patrick demanded, throwing his spare uniforms and casual clothes back into his trunk haphazardly, “We got upgraded.”

“We did?” Joe asked in disbelief, but immediately began clearing his desk, sensing the urgency.

“We got a room upgrade, and I got a promotion,” Patrick said, smiling smugly. Joe snorted.

“Promoted to what?” 

“Personal steward to some rich friend of JP Morgan’s, if you can believe that,” Patrick laughed, and latched his trunk shut. “Doing extra work has its benefits.”

Joe packed up nearly as quickly, and the two of them threw their things into the new room in record time. By the time they were set up in the new space, first class was about to start boarding. Joe and Patrick went back up on deck, and Patrick said a silent prayer that the material of the suit jacket would be thick enough to not show perspiration through, while simultaneously cursing whoever thought the stewards should be wearing all white.

The good thing about first class was that most of them had sent their bags before boarding. The bad thing about first class was those that hadn’t had absolutely no intention of lifting a finger to help. Joe and Patrick exchanged long suffering looks whenever they made eye contact, which wasn’t often. As soon as he set foot on the docks, Patrick bumped into an extremely well dressed young man, with his hair slicked back and a derisive sneer on his face.

“Watch where you’re walking,” he growled down at Patrick, and then, catching sight of his uniform, his frown deepened. “Is that any way to treat a passenger? And about time you got down here, we’ve been waiting for far too long,” he said, gesturing to an enormous pile of luggage with one long, smooth hand.

“Right away, sir,” Patrick said dully. “Do you know your cabin number?”

Even rolling his eyes, the man seemed to strike a very elegant and charming pose, extracting a piece of paper from his too tight suit. Awful as he seemed, he was quite attractive, Patrick couldn’t help but notice. His dark brown hair came to an elegant widow’s peak at the top of his forehead. His eyes were a beautiful, warm shade of brown, and his jaw looked sharp enough to cut. Every part of him seemed long and languid, and he read even his room number in an attractively bored voice.

“Very nice room, sir,” Patrick remarked, trying not to grunt as he lifted a bag that felt like it weighed more than he did. The nastiness made more sense now. He was only one tier down from the room Patrick was working in. “What was your name, again?”

“Urie,” he said, and made a shooing motion with his hands. “Get on with it.”

Patrick dragged the bag all the way down to his room, and when he made it back outside, he saw the entire remainder of Urie’s bags still piled up on the dock. He must have told someone that Patrick was taking care of it. Patrick did his best not to scream up at the sky, and instead pulled all the bags on as quickly as possible.

By the time he made his way back to the suite he was working in, his hair was plastered to his face from sweat, every breath he took was an asthmatic groan. Inside, he fell back on the door and took in a few heavy breaths, only to hear an embarrassed cough that made him jump back to attention.

“As I was saying,” Thomas said to the three people standing in the middle of the room, after casting a brief grin at Patrick, “This is Patrick, and he’ll be your personal steward, attending to your every need for the duration of our voyage. Patrick, this is Mr. Wentz, his wife, and son, who just graduated from Oxford.” Thomas added the last bit with a smile, always knowing how to warm himself to people, but the words sent a jolt through Patrick’s spine.

The older man and woman were unfamiliar, but as soon as he saw the son, he felt his stomach drop through the floor.

The same inky black hair, the light brown skin, too white teeth, warm amber eyes, even the same damn midnight blue suit that Patrick had thrown onto the hotel floor a week ago. The terror in the son’s face mirrored his own, the flirtatious smile long gone and replaced with a mortal horror. Mr. Wentz was speaking, but all the words were nothing but background buzzing to Patrick.

“...and my son, Pete!” he finished with a proud flourish. Pete looked like he was going to throw up, which was about how Patrick felt.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted,” Thomas said, “But I have to run. Busy day!” He clapped his hands together and darted out the door.

“We’re actually going to go try that French cafe, darling, would you mind unpacking while we’re out?” Mrs. Wentz asked her son.

“Not at all,” Pete said faintly. Patrick was faintly aware of the door shutting, and then they were left staring at each other.

Pete coughed.

“Can I, ah, give you some time to settle in?” Patrick suggested, his voice much higher than he remembered it being.

“That would be excellent!” Pete half yelled, and as soon as he had leave, Patrick bolted from the door, and sank onto the bed in his quarters just across the hall.

It was shaping up to be a very, very long trip.


	2. Chapter 2

Patrick didn’t want to admit to himself that he was hiding. Ht was, he told himself, simply being a good steward, allowing his boss the time to decompress and relax without having to make small talk after what was surely a taxing morning. He wasn’t being cowardly in avoiding the other man. Cowardice would be doing what Patrick really wanted to do: going up to the top deck and throwing himself into the freezing cold Atlantic and letting himself drift away with all the flotsam and never have to see Pete Wentz ever again. No, he thought, he was being perfectly reasonable in postponing the inevitable. 

In time, Patrick’s heartbeat had slowed down to a much more reasonable pace. After all, Pete was not exactly going to report him to anyone that might cause Patrick to lose his job when it would incriminate him in the process as well. Really, Pete would be in far more trouble than Patrick. He was the one involved in high society. What did gossip matter to someone of Patrick’s status? He could change his name and work somewhere else, but Pete was a Wentz.

Truth be told, Patrick wasn’t entirely sure why the Wentz’s were rich and beloved. He had heard some rumours that they were in the railroad business, but they were certainly newly rich. For nouveau riche, however, they sure were popular.

After waiting a full two hours, Patrick steeled his nerves and straightened his spine before walking back out into the suite. Pete- no, Mr. Wentz, Patrick had to remember that- was attempting, rather ineffectively, to tie a tie. His shirt was hopelessly rumpled, and he looked miserable. The sight was so pathetic that Patrick absolutely had to intervene.

“Can I assist you, sir?” Patrick asked politely. Pete startled so hard he fell onto the bed, one hand clutching his chest.

“Jesus, warn a man!” Pete gasped, breathing deeply.

“My deepest apologies, sir,” Patrick said, gently inclining his head. “But dinner will be served soon and you, ah, look like you could use some help,” he said. Pete groaned, running his hands through his hair and making even more of a mess of it.

“Sure,” he sighed at last. “Help me with this- this  _ fucking  _ tie,” he growled, throwing the strip of silk at the wall. Patrick’s eyes were wide, but he tried to make his expression neutral again before he spoke.

“Actually, with all due respect, I think I should help you with your shirt first,” Patrick said. Pete glared up at him, the flare of recognition in his eyes still just as potent.

“Forgive me,” Pete said, his voice acidic. “I’ve been having a slightly stressful day, if you can imagine.”

“A man need not ask his steward’s forgiveness,” Patrick said. “It’s unbecoming of someone of your status.” He knelt down in front of Pete, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Pete’s breath hitched as Patrick’s fingers brushed against his skin, but Patrick pursed his lips and made no noise in response. It wasn’t as though the soft, feverish, light brown skin had suddenly lost its attraction for him, but he had a job to do, had to focus, and the sooner he could turn his thoughts away from whatever had transpired in the past...

Patrick tucked Pete’s shirt in as quickly as he could while still being efficient, pointedly ignoring Pete’s loud gasp as his hands slid beneath the waistband of his trousers. He finished buttoning it and smoothed the shirt down till it looked presentable, then stood up, wrapping the navy blue tie around Pete’s neck.

“So, Oxford?” Patrick asked conversationally.

“Yes, Oxford,” Pete said. He sounded edgy, but somehow his nerves were making Patrick feel more confident. It wasn’t as though he was about to betray his status to get the serving boy in trouble.

“What did you study?” Patrick asked, pulling the tie taut and throwing open the closet doors to find a suit jacket.

“Law,” Pete said, paused, and continued, “Like my father. He’s actually JP Morgan’s lawyer, which is how we got the room.”

“How fortunate for you,” Patrick said, and, having procured a smart black jacket, slid it on Pete’s arms and tossed him a winsome smile. Pete looked in the mirror, and raised his eyebrows.

“Thank you,” he said begrudgingly. “I don’t usually- I mean, I can dress myself most of the time,” he sighed, pressing his knuckles into his eyes like he was fighting a nasty headache. “I’m just. Having a difficult day.”

Patrick mulled over what would be the proper response for a long time before he finally worked up the courage to speak.

“It can be difficult,” he said slowly, “To have to deal with unexpected aspects of your past.”

Pete’s skin flushed pink, an attractive shade on him, and he laughed nervously. He smoothed his hair back, and looked up through his eyelashes.

“It’s not as though the memory is unpleasant,” Pete said. 

“Even so,” Patrick took in a deep breath, hoping his courage would not betray him now, “I don’t think your parents would think it proper if I kept calling you a slut.”

Pete let out a booming, choking sounding laugh, and Patrick gave him a real grin.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this,” Pete laughed. “I must’ve gone to that pub a hundred times! What are the goddamn odds?”

“Well,” Patrick snorted, “It’s the largest ship in the world. I suppose the odds weren’t that small.”

Pete laughed nervously, and suddenly grasped Patrick’s hand tightly.

“You won’t say anything?” he asked.

“God no,” Patrick said. “I love this job. And speaking of which, I need to get you down to dinner, sir,” he smirked at the title.

“Still a bit of a role reversal to hear you call me that,” Pete chuckled.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that out loud either,” Patrick said. “But you’re welcome to call me sir when no one else can hear us.”

Pete blushed again, but rolled his eyes.

“Dinner? You’ll have to lead the way,” he said, a touch of arrogance coloring his voice. Patrick fought back a grin. It seemed that this trip wasn’t going to be disastrous after all. In fact, he rather liked Pete’s easygoing sense of humor, and though they were both still tense with nerves, the two of them kept up a steady stream of polite conversation while they walked down to the main dining room, as Patrick wasn’t sure who all might be listening.

“The weather outside seems pleasant enough to me, but is it at all good for a voyage like this?” Pete asked.

“Oh, certainly,” Patrick agreed, “I mean, it’s a little chilly, and it will be quite cold once we’re out in the middle of the ocean, but I can hardly imagine anything doing much damage to this ship. Then again, I’m just a steward,” he added, “I’m not really a sailor.”

“Ships these days,” Pete teased, “What sort of world are we coming to where half of the workers haven’t got an idea how to sail?”

“They don’t pay me to sail the boat, just to make sure the passengers are well cared for, sir,” Patrick said. The “sir” came out cheekier than he intended, but Pete laughed uproariously, the sound only making Patrick have to fight his smile off more fiercely. 

Although Patrick nearly always liked his job, he was surprised to discover that he genuinely liked Pete. He was easy to talked to, and not nearly as stuck up as the average first class patron Patrick would be serving.

As such, Patrick was disappointed when they reached the dining room, the white and gold doors looming in front of them threateningly. Patrick quickened his step to hold the door open for Pete, who stopped and made a face when Patrick didn’t follow him through.

“Are you not coming?” Pete asked.

“I do work here, sir,” Patrick said, his voice slipping deeper into formality now they were within earshot of other people. “I’m afraid I have other duties while dinner is going on. But I suspect I’ll see you later tonight if you return to your room before I’ve finished turning down your bed.”

Pete flushed a brilliant shade of pink, as though Patrick had said something embarrassing, but he nodded, gulped nervously, and walked into the dining room alone. The moment the door shut, Patrick sprinted down to the kitchens. He checked himself surreptitiously in a mirror, and was pleased to see that he looked fine on the outside, perfectly normal, in fact. He hadn’t even sweat through the heavy white uniform yet, although the steamy kitchens were sure to take away that accomplishment. He smoothed his hair and walked inside, almost immediately bumping into another friendly face.

“Andy!” Patrick said, embarrassed to hear how breathless he sounded. He tried a little more pointedly to compose himself, finally giving up and hoping it sounded like normal exertion. “I hadn’t seen you earlier in the week: I was beginning to wonder if you were even on this voyage.”

“Well, the White Star Line isn’t shot of me yet,” Andy said good naturedly. 

Next to Joe, Andy was Patrick’s favorite coworker. Though not a steward like they were, the rugged looking sailor became good friends with both of them over the past few trips they had worked together. Patrick appreciated him for his dry humour, his impressive sailing ability, and his deep seated moral compass. He looked rather haggard today, but he supposed that was to be expected from their first day.

“Conditions good?” Patrick asked.

“As good as we can ask for, I suppose,” Andy said. “Getting this monster to move is a chore, there’s no doubt about that, but we’re on our way now. I was just here to-”

“To get his dinner and run?” Joe suggested. He had a tray filled with a first class meal in hand, and a smirk on his face. “As opposed to losing his appetite by attempting to eat with the first class passengers.” Andy scowled.

“I don’t know how you stand them,” he said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t put up with those… people, as often as you stewards do.” He sounded like he had a different word than “people” in mind to describe the upper class. Patrick hadn’t realized how much he had missed him. 

“Tell us more about how Marx is going to save us all. When we aren’t serving the bourgeoisie,” Joe said with a laugh.

“I don’t care if they pay me, they’re detestable,” Andy sniffed.

“They aren’t all bad,” Patrick said before he could think about it. Andy didn’t appear to notice, but Joe gave him a piercing look. 

“Evening,” Andy said with a shake of his head, and disappeared out of a service door. 

“Have an interesting day?” Joe asked, his eyes narrowed like he knew something. Patrick gave him a tight smile.

“I’ll tell you tonight,” he said in a low voice, and grabbed a black apron and tied it around his waist. “Right now, I’m helping you serve. What are they eating tonight?” he asked eagerly. Joe, typically, saw right through him.

“Don’t go getting your hopes up,” he said. “We’ll get whatever is leftover. Take a tray and come help me serve the first course.”

The first class dining room took a while to settle down, and once it had, it was so full of people that Patrick doubted he could have run into Pete if he tried. Unfortunately for him, one of the tables he was serving seated an unpleasantly familiar face.

“This looks unique,” Mr. Urie said, his lips curling in distaste. “I wonder- oh, is it you again?” he asked, looking up at Patrick. Patrick wished he were less attractive. Such an unpleasant person shouldn’t have that advantage on top of being monstrously wealthy. “I thought you were a porter?”

“I’m a steward, sir,” Patrick said. “I have many duties aboard the ship. Can I get you anything else?”

“Perhaps something sweeter,” he said, handing the bowl back to Patrick. I’m feeling a bit seasick, and shellfish seem completely unpalatable at the moment.”

“Right away, sir,” Patrick said. He didn’t even roll his eyes until he was back in the kitchen. The chefs seemed annoyed by the request, but gave Patrick a plate of fruit. 

Upon returning to Urie, the man rolled his eyes, but accepted it resignedly in what for him was certainly a gracious gesture. 

Patrick was in a hurry to get away, but he stopped at the conversation Urie was having with some of the other men.

“-Wentz, I think his name was,” Urie said in his typical, bored drawl. “A friend of Morgan’s, I suppose, though what a man like him would be doing with the likes of them astounds me. I heard their son was the first in the family to go to a real university.”

“Well, I’ve heard worse rumours about the son,” another man laughed. “But really, it seems unlike him. A man of his status, well, I suppose there’s something to be said about Wentz’s drive. A self made man, I imagine a businessman like Morgan would appreciate it.”

“I suppose,” Urie said, but he sounded unhappy at the turn the conversation had taken. Patrick tried not to look satisfied, and instead went about refilling everyone’s water glasses, eagerly awaiting the end of the meal.

Unfortunately for him, first class dining was not something that the company had a tendency to rush. There were ten courses, with ample amounts of time given to each, and afterward, an assortment of drinks, cigars, and small things to nibble on while they sat and talked for hours. Patrick was relieved to discover that it took far less people to clean up after this last social section of the meal than it took to serve the rest of it, so the moment they had cleared away dessert, he grabbed Joe by the arm and suggested they go and start turning down beds for the evening.

As they walked back to the first class cabins, Patrick pulled Joe into a side room the moment they were out of sight and sound of the rest of the workers and passengers, his chest feeling full to the point of explosion with the news he had to tell him.

“What on earth has gotten you so worked up?” Joe hissed as soon as they were alone.

“Remember the man I told you about the first day on the ship?” Patrick asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” Joe said, his eyes dark and his voice wary.

“That’s the son of the man who’s staying in JP Morgan’s suite,” Patrick said, the words tumbling out like bombs. Joe’s eyes widened, and he seized up slightly in disbelief.

“You must be joking,” he said softly. 

“I never got his name,” Patrick said. “Apparently it was Pete Wentz.”

“What are you going to do?” Joe asked in a voice that was half whisper and half moan.

“Well, I talked to him about it-”

“YOU WHAT?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down! I talked to him about it and he’d fare worse from the news getting out than I would.”

“You can’t keep working with him,” Joe said harshly. “You’re insane. You’re going to get fired at best and arrested at worst. He can pin anything that happens on you and say he was just prey and then it’s his million-dollar word against yours.”

“Thanks for your faith,” Patrick said, affronted. “I think I can handle myself.”

“Think about this,” Joe pleaded, but Patrick was just offended enough to ignore him.

“Come on, now, I have work to do,” Patrick said sternly. Joe frowned, but didn’t fight it, instead following Patrick down to the Wentz’s room, where he bid him goodnight.

“Leaving?” Patrick asked.

“I’m assigned to other rooms, you know,” Joe said good naturedly. “There are thousands of people aboard this ship, not just your… associate.”

Patrick flushed, but let him leave. He screwed up all of his courage before he walked back into the Wentz’s room.

Miraculously, the suite was still empty. He had expected that Mrs. Wentz, at least, would have returned, as the women didn’t usually hang around long after dinner, but no one was there. The suite was far too luxurious for three people, but it was none of Patrick’s business what people spent their money on. 

He was able to quickly lose himself in the relatively mind numbing work of turning down all of the beds, he dusted the already spotless room, restocked the towels, and took the clothes Pete had discarded earlier down to be washed. When he got back, Mrs. Wentz had returned, and he prudently shut the door to the master bedroom so as not to interrupt her. Another girl he worked with was attending to her, and Patrick expected that Thomas Andrews had probably assigned someone more experienced to be the personal assistant of the older Mr. Wentz. 

While Patrick kept working on tasks just to stay ahead of things, he eventually began to wonder what he was doing. He shouldn’t hope to see Pete again. In fact, Joe was right. If he had any sense at all, he would cut off contact as best he could and remain completely professional and unaffected. But he felt an inexplicable tugging in the base of his chest, a desperation to see Pete again, to speak to him some more.

He was only egged on by the expression of delight that spread across Pete’s face when he rushed into the room and saw Patrick still working.

“I’m so glad I caught you,” Pete said warmly. “I thought you might’ve finished for the night.”

Patrick cringed slightly. “I have, actually. Unless, of course, there was some service you needed me for?” He sounded far too hopeful, he realized.

“Hmm,” Pete looked thoughtful, clearly wanting to prolong this as well. This was all wrong, Patrick knew, but he couldn’t say no to such a prestigious guest, could he? “Would you draw a bath for me?” Pete asked.

“Certainly,” Patrick said with an easy smile. He walked into the large bathroom, acutely aware that Pete was following him. Summoning more self restraint than he thought himself capable of, he said “You needn’t trouble yourself with staying the whole time. I can fetch you when it’s ready. Sir.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Pete said. He leaned on the counter, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Besides, I’m quite bored. Why don’t you tell me a story?”

Patrick snorted.

“A story?” he asked. “Of the bedtime variety, or do you expect me to know a novel by heart? We can’t all attend university, sir.”

“A story about yourself, obviously,” Pete said. “I hardly know a thing about you, and it feels somewhat backwards to me.”

Patrick thought for a moment.

“There really isn’t much to tell about me,” he said at last. “My name is Patrick Stump. I was always fascinated by the ocean, and my parents are poor, so I seized the opportunity to work for the White Star Line when they were hiring. I started washing dishes, and now I’m a steward in the most expensive cabin on board. I get paid reasonably well, and I get to travel. When I’m in faraway cities, sometimes I engage in… unsavory activities.”

“Unsavory?” Pete asked, his cheeky grin brightening with humour. Patrick flushed again.

“Apparently it’s not uncommon.” He tested the water with his hand, and it felt fine. “Would you care for any oils? Salts?” Patrick asked.

“No, this is fine, thank you,” Pete said, and he yanked off his jacket, beginning to undress in front of Patrick.

“Would you like a hand, sir?” Patrick asked with some amusement. 

“If you feel so inclined,” Pete said, one eyebrow raised. Patrick unbuttoned his shirt swiftly, folding it up on the counter before continuing. Once Pete was down to underwear, a sight to behold, really, Patrick stepped back. 

“Enjoy your bath, Mr. Wentz,” he said.

“Not going to join?” Pete asked in a low tone. Patrick looked him up and down, tempted, sorely tempted, but he thought of the horrified look on Joe’s face, Pete’s parents in the next room, the food his paychecks could provide his parents, even the probing gaze of Mr. Urie from earlier that evening.

“Good night, Mr. Wentz,” Patrick said firmly. “I will be in the adjacent room all night if you need me.”

He slammed the door before he could catch the look of disappointment on Pete’s face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the comments, guys! It definitely hurried me along, and I'm so glad to hear what you think! I hope you enjoy this, and if you like my writing and you like Peterick, you should check out The High Way to Hell, my absolute baby. Thanks for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. I'm so, so, so sorry.


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